Just don’t lose any weight Londy...

Here I am today. I am in the midst of my first chemotherapy treatment. I have cancer. I will tell you how it all started and what I have in coming blogs.

I began the day with a large dose of some sort of steroid to make sure I don't have a reaction to either of the drugs I am taking. Once I got here and filled out the same paperwork for the 100th time, they weighed me, measured how tall I was, and took my blood pressure and pulse rate. I was quite amused when the nurse mistakenly said my weight was 50 pounds less than I am... um, not since high school.

My oncologist finally came in the room some time later—at just about that point when you start to sigh from waiting so long. He is sort of what I would call a "cool nerd". In other words you won't see a picture of his shoes in GQ; but his brain is huge and you just want to start asking him every question you can think of asking. He is a very calm, cross all the T's type. Not easily riled—although I did get a big reaction when I asked about getting tattoos or body piercings during chemo.

The best news today was that I have no bone damage. Yesterday I received a series of x-rays to make sure the cancer had done nothing more than "irritate" my bones. The only thing they found was a rib fracture that was old and apparently mended. What the hell? I broke a rib and don't remember it? How'd that happen?

Being given the all clear on the bone testing, I was good to go on the drugs that are now being forced into my chest. I have a port-a-cath inserted directly over my right breast. You can definitely tell the surgeon was a man, because it is right under the spot where my bra strap rides over the shoulder—great... more bra problems. Okay I’ll give him credit that is probably not on his mind when he is performing the procedure. Plus, he was nice enough to drain the fluid off my lung again even though he was not asked until I was in the operating room securely attached to that heated table. And Dr. Alder is a MASTER SURGEON. No doubt about it. (Gotta be nice he may be doing more surgery on me down the road :) That doc Alder is so damn cool!

Still, I have had problems finding bras that fit and are comfortable all my life. Naturally large cup with small rib cage... sigh. Now I get to add that with a weird strap placement. Everyone says "go braless," um yeah… except the women who have naturally large ones—they give me sympathetic looks. When I was pregnant my size zoomed all the way up to 36K... no kidding. I had to order them on the internet. Who buys these? A few of those enhanced to watermelon size porn stars? Oh sure tons of 56K's out there to buy... you can visualize that image can’t you??? Well, here I am complaining about bra sizes while trying to kill the cancer in my breast. Ironic eh? Actually, when I am through with this I will be happy with any size I have left—whether it is none or some or a lot...

Today I am getting a drug called Taxol, which comes from some tree or other. I'll have to look that up sometime and see which tree is saving my life. One day I will find it and hug it. I will be a literal tree hugger. The oncology nurse said that it is delivered in an oil substance of some kind and that people might be allergic to it, so they also give you a huge dose of Benadryl to counteract that possibility. So they got me all up and zooming with the steroids and then made me all woozy with Benadryl... next will they give me more steroids to bring me back to normal? I don't know... right now I just feel drunk.

In fact, just before I started writing this I had to pee... no big deal. You just have to drag your pole with the drip on it with you—roll it down that short highway. My lame joke about not giving away any pole dances was met with a red face. My stumbling down the hall nearly wrecking, got about the same reaction. But the nurse was quick to help me, saying "you don't handle your Benadryl well do you?" Well no, I guess not. A little more drunk pole driving, and I was back, secure in my recliner.

Thank goodness Lee was able to come with me. I don't know what I would do without him and Linda’s help. Holy crap. I take back all the times I called him a "stupid head" when we were kids. Linda and Smokey are at home. She called and said he got the books I ordered today and was excited. I ordered him the Ultimate Forbidden Lego Building guide and a Star Wars guide to create all of the Star Wars vehicles. His two favorite things these days... Lego's and Star Wars.

The second drug I am getting is called Herceptin. It's specifically for people that have my "type" of cancer. It somehow is attracted to only the cancer cell and then it causes the cell to stop dividing and replicating, thus it dies. I've learned quite a bit about those pesky cancer cells. We all search for "immortality" on some level... well, guess what? Those cancer cells have achieved it. They don't die, they replicate. Somehow cancer cells have achieved immortality without gurus or vision quests or anything like that. They just do. So we have to kill them. The battle has begun. Never say "on some level I want to be immortal," ever again.

So back to why I called this blog "just don't lose any weight..." I had that dream moment. I was told that one thing all women want to hear all their lives... "just don't lose any weight Londy." My reach for the sky and exuberant exclamations of "hallelujah" were met with that same sort of red face. Okay, maybe it's going to take some time for these guys to get used to me. But there it is... my green light to eat without worry of gaining weight. Okay bad reason for that to happen, but when in this position you take what you can get.

If I look scared, it's because I am...

My oncologist, Dr. Harold Johnson. He agreed to be photographed for my blog as long as he didn't have to wear a pirate hat.

This is Susan, the oncology nurse, uncovering my port for the first time and preparing it for all the fun to come. She asked if I could get a body double for her for this photo, maybe a playmate or something? She is very sweet.